


Understanding

by MrsAlot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1866936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsAlot/pseuds/MrsAlot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Ratchets death, there was only one who could really understand</p>
            </blockquote>





	Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to What if… Ratchet Died

“Has anyone seen Drift since… ya’know…?” Skids spoke up, looking around at the other bots around the table in Swerves. A mournful silence fell on the group, all at a loss of what to say, the tragic loss of the trusted seemingly indestructible old medic was still painfully fresh. Topped off with most of the crew having seen the state it had left their TIC in, his sorrowful, spark breaking cries that had permeated the ark were not going to be leaving their thoughts any time soon.

“I have messaged him to come see me… I also stopped by his hab suite… he didn’t answer.” Rung said softly.

“I don’t think anyone has seen him outside since it happened.” Tailgate said, his little voice full of sadness.

“Pit, I didn’t even know he and Ratchet were seeing each other,” The Chromedome said shaking his helm. “I thought The Doc hated Drift.”

“Apparently not” theologian sighed. He was about to ask if anyone else had known when he clocked the very bot they were speaking about at the bar doors.

Nearly everyone in the room looked up and all became silent. Drift wore a face of grim determination, it was thin and his concealed pain radiated from him as much as his EM field. He walked steadily into the room, heading straight for the bar. But the most unnerving thing was his colouring. From helm to ped, he was now entirely red and white, even his swords had taken on their masters two tone colouration. The only thing that stood out where his bright blue optics. It was clearly an eerily mimicking homage to his dead lover.

Drift stopped just short of the bar and seemed to look at one of the stools as if it held all the answers in the universe. Everyone knew why. It had been Ratchets preferred bar stool and out of curtsey and respect it was always vacated for him whenever he entered. Now Drift approached it as if it would come to life and bite him, ever so slowly he eased himself onto in and rested his arms on the bar. His helm bowed solemnly and his now scarlet servos clasped together before him. He just sat and stared at them… lost in his swirling thoughts.

Rung was about to go to him, but Chromedome beat him to it, he stood and made his way over to the grieving mech, before the smaller bot could get to his feet and silently slipped onto the stool beside Drift.

“A tank buster for Drift, Swerve, stick it on my tab,” The Memosurgeon said gently, drawing both the bar tenders and sword mech attention. “It’s on me.”

“You got it.” The minibot nodded.

“I don’t need your charity.” Drift said lowly, bitterness in his deep voice.

“It’s not charity.” Chromedome assured him.

“And I don’t want your pity.” The handsome mech’s voice rising.

“It’s not that either.”

“Then what?!” Drift spat venomously, glaring at the bigger bot, a look that usually had mechs fleeing in terror.

“I know that’s all.” Was all he said quietly, his visor light soft with understanding. “I know how bad your spark is breaking… I thought mine was going to implode when Rewind died… for max had to pick me up off the floor…”

Drift’s face fell, all the hostile anger melting away till all the Mind surgeon could see was a very distraught and lost mech who’d just had his world shattered. Chromedome’s spark panged at the sight of the brave warriors optics starting the flare and his lip quake, he knew all to well the pain which the former Decepticon was going though. He wouldn’t wish it on anyone not even his worst enemy. Drift turned to find Swerve carefully sliding a big cube of strong Engex mix before him. The Little bot went to say something… but stopped… and after a moment, merely offered him a small sad nod and let him be.

The two of them sat in silence for what seemed like vorns… Chromedome sipped his drink and waited… Drift took the cube between his servos and stared into the green tinged depths… he felt as if everything was far away… and everything hurt… his spark… his head… he body… even venting hurt… he just wanted to crawl into a corner and cry…

“It hurts so much….” The swords mech spoke, barely coming out of his voice box.

“I know…” Chromedome nodded, “Hurts like pit fire, doesn’t it…”

“We were just starting to… we’d just… after all these centuries… I finely had something pure and good in my life and… someone who actually cared about me… and now he’s gone and… an-I… I didn’t even get the chance to tell him… that I loved him…” Drift croaked, his intakes ragged and optics flaring. Wisps and ribbons of light falling from his optics as his walls broke and pain gushed forth.

The Memosurgeon saw Drifts clenched shaking fist on the bar. In a moment of instinctual comfort he reached over and placed his servo over the newly painted red one. It was simple gesture, just to silently show Drift that he wasn’t alone, that he understood and that he was there. He was surprised when the dangerous and grieving mechs hand opened grasped his cream servo, squeezing his digits tightly. A silent acknowledgement of the comforting gesture and a grateful thank you. 

Moments later Drift released his death grip on Chromedome and returned to holding his drink. The pair returned to sitting in silence.

“Tell me… Dose it get easier?” Drift asked into his drink suddenly.

“I’ll let you know.” The visor mech sighed heavily as he took a big sip.


End file.
